


20 questions

by civillove



Series: plans wrapped in rubber bands [12]
Category: Good Girls (TV)
Genre: Angst, Episode Related, F/M, rio is a dick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-15
Updated: 2019-05-15
Packaged: 2020-03-05 23:12:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18838717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/civillove/pseuds/civillove
Summary: Prompts: from anon: OK! Fic prompt based on Sunday’s episode (2x11): I’d love to see your take on Beth’s first time in Rio’s apartment and their game of 20 questions. This time ending in a kiss (or more)!! + medievalraven: Love all of your works!! Beth finds out personal details about Rio by snooping and Rio doesn’t react well to discovering this. (I am here for the angst and even a mature rating ;)--Despite the fact that he’s always in her business, following parts of her life like a schedule he’s got to keep, she feels wrong for being here. She feels guilty. And if he figures out she was here, in his place, in his things—he’ll never trust her again.Beth turns the light off in the closet and steps through the doorway into his bedroom, but just before she reaches the window:“Find what you’re lookin’ for?”





	20 questions

**Author's Note:**

> AN: This is a closer look at 2x11 with some of my own stuff sprinkled in—you will recognize some dialogue from the episode mixed with themes from the series. 
> 
> I am warning you that there is angst ahead. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing, especially Good Girls or Rio and Beth but I’m very thankful for them ;)

Regardless of the bounty being taken care of, Rio still disappears for a few days.

She knows she should have suspected it, and yet it takes her by surprise all the same. Sometimes it takes her a few times to accept that Rio has his own life and business that has nothing to do with her—he’s not obligated to check in, regardless of how much she wants him to. Beth thinks it has everything to do with the fact that her life starts sitting on her chest like a cinder block when he’s not there, reminding her of the very reason she decided to rob the grocery store in the first place.

Everything is so _suffocating—_ even things she enjoyed doing before, like going to PTA meetings, watching her daughter dance or her son swim, bake sales, sewing, selling cars; all of it. She’s quickly beginning to realize that it’s not about the danger, because she doesn’t _enjoy_ asshole clients hitting her in the face or being shot at or bounties that require run-down apartment buildings and terrible mattresses, but that she enjoys him.

Beth enjoys spending her time with Rio, even when it has nothing to do with business—and maybe that’s the most dangerous part.

She sighs as she sits on the couch, drawing a blanket around her legs as she snacks on a box of Cheez-its, popping a few into her mouth. She shuffles back into the corner as if the cushion will ground her out of her thoughts and into the present—she’s being ridiculous, she can handle a few days on her own. Wasn’t it not too long ago that she was willing to walk away from it all, for good? She can finally give some time to herself to get her head on straight, to get enough sleep, to take some long hot baths in which she reads a book and _definitely does not think about Rio_ while ambient noise drowns out Dean trying to make dinner with the kids.

She should take this distance as a sign to relax, the last thing she wants to do is to keep going and going and going until she makes herself sick again, but she realizes that it’s hard to actually _stop_ once she’s melted into a routine.

Annie leans against her on the couch, shoulder pressing into her own as her hand dives into the Cheez-it box, “You’re hogging these.”

Beth scrunches her nose and blames her snacking on stress, “I am not,” She brushes crumbs off her chest. “I’m just _really_ enjoying them.”

Annie smiles and pops a few into her mouth, pulling her blonde bob up into a loose ponytail. “This is nice, just you and me hanging out.”

She smiles gently and pulls the blanket up a little, playing with the edge of the box as Annie digs in for another handful. Beth knows it’s been a while, even a longer span of time that she’s spent with just her sister and not Ruby. Unfortunately, it’s what tends to happen—everyone gets absorbed in their own lives. She knows what _she’s_ been dealing with anyways; between jobs and bounties and drops and the dealership, she’s barely had time to breathe let alone fill in her sister and best friend.

“Yeah, I’m sorry I’ve been so busy.”

Annie licks her licks, curling a random strand that’s slipped free behind her ear. She can feel her eyes on her, gaze tracing over her face, trying to read what she’s not saying underneath her skin.

“Oh, I’m sure you have.” It’s not exactly pointed, not yet, but Beth already knows where she’s going with this. “How’s working been with him, you know, on your own?”

Beth chews on her bottom lip, not sure how to respond. The complex and ever changing emotions inside her chest are hard to give words to; she wants to say it’s felt terrifying and difficult yet euphoric. But while Annie has good intentions, she’s afraid if she tells her that her feelings will be generalized—or worse, made fun of.

“He’s not the easiest person to work with but it’s been…fruitful.”

Suddenly she’s glad she hasn’t had much time with Annie or Ruby because if that’s all she can say? they’d read right through her. Beth tries to clarify but she finds herself distracted by the fact that it hasn’t been productive of late since his little sabbatical, despite the bounty being gone. Her thoughts wander to Marcus and if he’s spending more time juggling being a father and _then_ feels insensitive because if that’s what he’s doing she’s complaining about not working with him for five days and—

“How long has it been?”

Beth blinks, turning to look at Annie. “What?”

She narrows her eyes at her a moment and grabs the Cheez-it box. “Since you’ve worked a job or whatever with him.”

And here it goes. “Five days…but before you even start—”

“Jesus Beth,” It’s already out of her mouth. “Look at you, you’re like an addict. Jonesing for dick.”

She instantly feels her cheeks go pink even though she’s sighing out her sister’s name, “Why do you always have to be so crude?”

She nearly cranes her neck to look at her but then decides it’s better to angle her body, turning on the couch, “Hold up, tell me that’s not true.”

Beth wishes she would have grabbed something stronger than water to drink if she knew they were going to be talking about this. Part of her feels like she should have known better; when she’s with Annie she _always_ ends up talking about sex or Rio or any combination of it. It’s not that she feels like she’s judging her, Beth knows that Annie accepts her decisions even though she might not agree with them, but she’s always been rather private about… _that._ Discussing her partnership with Rio is one thing, whatever else she does with him is no one’s business but her own.

“It’s not just…about that. The sex is good, _really good,_ but…” She trails off, opening her mouth to talk about the last time she was with him, how different everything felt, like something shifted between them but she’s not sure what it is or if it matters but—

Annie’s face says it all; she’s staring at her, her mouth opening slowly into a shocked expression. Because of course Annie knows, she’s always known her like the back of her hand, understands her emotions before _she_ even does.

“Oh my God. You have feelings for Gang Friend.”

“Why can’t you just call him _Rio?”_ She says, exasperated and then quickly, “And that’s _not_ what I was going to say.” Even though she’s right and she sounds defensive even to her own ears.

“Yes it was, you care about him.”

Beth sticks her hand into the Cheez-it box and shoves a bunch of crispy squares into her mouth like that might save her. “Of course I care about him,” She says, muffled speech and too many crumbs. “He’s my partner.”

Annie purses her lips, shaking her head in full ‘I don’t believe you’ mode. “Oh that’s really what you’re going to go with, huh.” It’s not a question.

She tries to reign this conversation in, “It _is_ about business, it’s not like I’m going to go back to having my full-time job as a housewife,” She swallows, wonders if she should tell her anything else. It wouldn’t hurt to get her opinion on…the _other_ stuff she’s doing with Rio.

But talking about it out loud, her wants and desires mixed with expectations that she knows they won’t be able to keep—it feels incredibly naïve. It’s easy to think about having him all to herself, building a version of them up in her mind when they work so well together…when the world and all its obligations fade away while stuck in a crumbling apartment complex for a night.

Reality feels colder, less dependable.

“But since we’re talking about…”

“His dick.” Annie fills in and Beth rolls her eyes, throwing a Cheez-it at her.

“He uh,” She continues, smoothing her hand over the blanket on her lap. “He told me he wasn’t sleeping with anyone else.” _Not like this, not for a while._

Annie raises her one eyebrow. “And you trust him?”

Famous last words, “He hasn’t given me a reason not to. He may not be honest with me about a lot but…this felt different.”

Her sister rolls her eyes but says nothing after a few moments, putting the Cheez-it box on the coffee table after successfully demolishing the rest of it. She looks like she wants to say a lot more but for some reason doesn’t and instead just bites her tongue—which ironically tells Beth everything she needs to know.

“You don’t approve.”

Annie sighs and her hand falls to Beth’s, giving her a squeeze. “I think…” She pauses, considering how to say this. “I think he makes you feel good about the work you do and I know it’s important to you, being great at this stuff. And I’m the last one who should be giving advice about who to have sex with.” She smiles a little but it’s cautious, “But what you want? I don’t think Rio can give.”

Beth swallows, her words burrowing between her ribcage and expanding until it feels almost painful. She’s not even sure what she _wants_ and yet…she knows Annie’s right. That she wants something more and that it might not fit into what she’s currently doing. It’s familiar at least because that’s how she had to break free of her lifestyle before, that’s why she robbed a grocery store; because she wanted to be something _more_ than being a housewife, than being a good mother.

“Just be careful.” Annie says and kisses her knuckles before standing from the couch to go into the kitchen. “Let’s destroy a tub of ice cream.”

And Beth’s left alone with her thoughts.

\--

She tells herself that her conversation with Annie won’t amount to anything drastic—she’s had talks before about Rio, about what she wants, and it’s all ended up at the very same place: nowhere. She vents, she realigns herself, she relaxes and nothing comes out of it. Part of her thinks that she just needs to be able to put it out into the open so it can boomerang back with how ridiculous it is.

Annie is that boomerang.

Except…except this time it doesn’t feel ridiculous. Her last night with him keeps eating away at her thoughts when she least expects it; their foreheads pressing together, soft kisses against her lips, his bruising touch and their slow pace into the mattress—all of it, everything. It won’t leave her alone, a record on repeat because of a scratch on the rings.

It takes her another two days to come to the conclusion that she can’t _sit_ with her thoughts anymore and to do something about it. Rio is always pushing himself into her life, urgently interrupting her time with whatever business proposition comes into play so why can’t she do the same thing? He steals her from whatever is going on in her life, from whoever she’s with and inserts himself into her space, demanding time and attention.

Which is how she finds herself stalking the bar he goes to, heart slamming into her throat as she sees him wander out with his boys before getting into his car. She stays a few minutes behind him, following to random obligations and watching like he’s watched her. She remembers making a joke about him being on the neighborhood watch group after catching his car on her street one too many times, pulling up just as she got home.

It feels weird being on this end, her eyes following his movements as he picks his son up from a house. She wants to scream that she wouldn’t feel so pressed to get to know him if he’d just _let her in_ but if this is what she has to do then so be it. They can finally feel even, 50/50, _partners._

Rio hugs the woman near her front steps and Beth’s mind whirs to so many possibilities of who she is to be able to watch over Marcus. A girlfriend? An ex-wife? A good friend? _It’s not your business_ a voice keeps telling her, whispering in her ear as she watches Rio’s hand come down affectionately on Marcus’s head. _You’re not entitled to his life;_ and yet there she is, starting the car again to follow him towards his next destination.

She pauses this time outside of a large apartment complex with an evergreen painted front door and it takes everything in her not to drive away. This is it. _This_ has to be it—because Rio disappears into the building and comes back out fifteen minutes later with Marcus in tow and his clothes are different. He’s dressed for T-Ball and that same ache that tells her she’s fucking up starts to build again in the middle of her chest. She didn’t even know Marcus liked T-Ball, always associated him with soccer and that big tooth grin holding onto the ball tight at the park.

Rio packs his son into the car, pausing to ruffle his hair and put his bag into the passenger seat before driving off. She should leave, _what are you doing here_ running through her head so many times she’s almost dizzy as she gets out of her car…and walks towards the front of the building.

Beth has to pull a ridiculous stunt with the neighbor just to learn which apartment is his, is _Christopher’s,_ and crawls up the rickety fire escape to open up his window, slipping inside. The new name bounces around her head, something that sounds so foreign that it nearly puts a bad taste in her mouth. Which part is he lying about? Which name is really his? Or are none of them—just another box in the stack of things marked ‘unknown’.

One of these days that stack is going to fall right on top of her.

His apartment nearly takes her breath away and she stands by the window for a long moment to take in the space, her mouth nearly falling onto the floor as she thinks of the shitty, tiny one-room they had to cram into to hide from a bounty.

It’s not even comparable to this. Rio’s place is open and wide, the floorspace a mixture of green hints, exposed brick and dark, rustic wood floors. Gorgeous, like something out of a catalog somewhere, barely touched but definitely lived in.

She takes a few steps forward, heels clicking hollowly against the floorboards, her eyes drinking in everything too fast. She didn’t realize there’d be so much to notice—it’s somehow _rustic_ with contemporary furniture, art on the walls (did he steal it or buy it?), and a cut out space for Marcus’s bedroom.

Beth puts her hand on the wall and takes a deep breath, the idea of Rio in bed where she came in and Marcus so close in his own—a domestic hand reaching inside her chest and squeezing, hard, as she thinks about him having a nightmare. Rio pulling the covers back and moving to his side, a _what’s up, pop?_ soothingly leaving his lips as he runs his fingers through his dark hair.

Stuffed animals and dinosaurs, shoes organized in front of his bed.

She shouldn’t be here.

Her feet guide her towards the kitchen, her eyes occasionally landing on pictures of them both together—smiling at the park, on the steps, Marcus sitting between Rio’s legs, Marcus on Rio’s back, the smile on Rio’s face something she’s never seen before. It’s bright, open and _honest_ and it’s so overwhelming that she nearly has to sit down, enough to make her feel like she was wrong in intruding.

Her eyes gaze over the kitchen and her stomach clenches in an envious matter. It’s so _big_ and spacious with its exposed piping, marble countertops and giant fridge that there’s an ache inside of her to bake something; to make this place feel more like home. How often is Rio even here? Does he get to enjoy living in this place? How many motel rooms does he end up living in instead?

“Fuck.” She mumbles, that same realization slamming into her chest like a freight train.

Her legs take her back in the direction of the window…when she pauses at Rio’s closet. She swallows, approaching the space like there might actually be a monster waiting inside. She just… _has to know—_

She flips the light switch on, assaulted with strategically organized shoes and hanging dress shirts of sprinkled tan, grey and sky blue that he doesn’t wear often enough. No reds, no oranges, no sight of warm colors. Her hands reach out and touch, fingers gliding along the softest cotton of his t-shirts, tempted to bring one to her nose to inhale the scent of laundry detergent that clenches her stomach.

Beth turns to see pictures on a nightstand, one of Rio and Marcus, the other two black and white. There’s a couple holding hands by an old car and she wonders if that’s his parents or maybe even his grandparents; he _did_ talk about his abuela fondly the last time she saw him. She runs her thumb over the glass, eyes meeting Rio’s in the photograph with his son before she puts it down.

Despite the fact that he’s always in her business, following parts of her life like a schedule he’s got to keep, she feels _wrong_ for being here. She feels guilty. And if he figures out she was here, in his place, in his things—he’ll never trust her again.

Beth turns the light off in the closet and steps through the doorway into his bedroom, but just before she reaches the window:

“Find what you’re lookin’ for?”

She freezes, every bone in her body turning to concrete as his voice echoes against the walls of the apartment. She closes her eyes a moment and bites down hard on the inside of her cheek in silent hope that she’s made it up.

But when she turns he’s standing there in the open space of his living room, leaning against a wooden beam, dressed head to toe in black with a beanie on. Funny; she almost says something about not seeing an array of those in his closet.

“I’m not looking for anything.” She says and wishes her voice was stronger because even from here she can tell he’s pissed; the way he’s holding his body, eyes like doused coal, watching her like a bug that needs to be squished.

“Oh well you must be to be breakin’ into my place.”

She clears her throat, goes to gesture to the open window because _semantics,_ the window wasn’t locked. “Actually—”

But he doesn’t care, sticks his hands in his pockets as he leans up off the beam and takes a step towards her. “Wanna tell me what it is?”

How does she say that she’s not here for anything other than _him?_ He’s waiting for her response, taking another step forward, that thin string she balances on with his patience being pulled tighter and tighter.

“Don’t wanna tell me? What you want me to guess?” His voice sounds amused but she knows him better than that; he’s _angry_ and all the justification she felt before suddenly melts right off her and into the floorboards at her feet.

She’s an open book compared to him and she wonders if she hadn’t forcibly ripped open his pages and broken the spine if he would have shared this place with her; one day.

“Seems unfair to play twenty questions when you’re in _my_ apartment, but aight, I’ll start. Why you followin’ me around all day?”

He’s not going to take her silence for much longer and she plays with the waist tie of her jacket under the scrutiny of his gaze. She should have known better than to try and tail him—he’d picked up on the person following them from the restaurant before they reached her place. And she’s not exactly writing any books on how to track someone while being stealth. 

“Why weren’t you answering your phone? I called you.” Beth tries but that sounds weak even to her own ears.

Rio stares at her, jaw clenching before he nods his head, looking away quickly as he takes off his beanie and tosses it towards his couch.

“Eighteen.” He responds which is just another way of saying _not your business,_ something dark and dangerous dancing across his face as he takes a few steps forward. She holds her ground despite the need to squirm or run out the fire escape.

It’s not like he wouldn’t be able to find her; she’s never been able to hide from him, but what’s the point of playing this game if they don’t answer one another?

She sighs out a soft sound and her eyes flicker to the space around him, remembering the neighbor and, “That’s not an answer, _Christopher.”_

He doesn’t flinch, instead he smiles, slow and unamused as he hears the name leave her lips. She wants to ask if that’s really his name or if he made it up, if he made _everything_ up because if this is how it really is—if she’s been _this naïve_ this entire time…

“Why are you here?” He presses and she has a feeling that’s the last time he’s going to ask nicely.

“Seventeen.” She fires back, making him smirk and he stops to take his hands out of his pockets, unbuttoning his jean jacket but not taking it off.

“Oh that’s not an answer, Elizabeth.” Rio taunts, throwing her language right back at him. They’re not going to get anywhere like this, but she figures that’s not the point, this game doesn’t really matter.

They don’t expect to get anything out of one another but this the cat and mouse routine, the dance they stumble through: give and take of no one giving or taking _anything—_ it’s all process and no reward, especially now, all the walls she’s taken down by hand he’s building back up again.

They’re back at square one.

“I didn’t hear from you,” She tries to explain, at least a little. “You had a bounty on your head and then all of a sudden you were gone. You didn’t call me back.”

“You realize how much you sound like a pathetic schoolgirl?”

She lifts her chin a little higher, refusing to let that comment get to her. Rio’s always used his words to hurt her because that’s what he’s good at, at opening up her chest and throwing sharp things in, sewing her back up with care.

“Being worried about someone is pathetic?” She asks because no, she refuses to feel bad about that part of it. Breaking into his place? Violating his trust? Fine, valid. But that? After everything they’ve been through? No. “Why aren’t you answering?”

Rio’s jaw clenches as he takes another step towards her, that same string pulled taut. “Why are you talkin’ so much? I didn’t ask you to worry about me.”

“Like that’s supposed to stop me? You worry about _me_ and you’re pissed, I get that, but you can’t say that you don’t.”

He’s almost in her personal space, just out of touch, hesitating as his fingers flinch at his sides. That frigid amusement that was decorating his handsome face completely gone. He looks like he wants to grab her, shake her, throw her out but he doesn’t—not yet.

“And you think that somehow makes you entitled? Letin’ yourself into places that you got no business being in?” His volume of his voice raises, just a little as he steps into her space, towering over her and demanding answers that she refuses to give him.

Beth knows she’s in the wrong, she _knows,_ and yet— “Do you even hear yourself right now?” She snaps back, not allowing him to look down on her by staring right up into his eyes.  “How many times have you let yourself into my home? Into my _life?_ Maybe it’s time I returned the favor. Why didn’t you tell me about this place?”

And then she sees it, that patience snapping in half like a rubber band breaking. He _grabs_ her, isn’t gentle, his hand clasping her chin in a vice-like grip. He doesn’t let go even though she gasps, more out of surprise than pain, and backs her up until her legs hit his nightstand and knock a picture frame over.

“Because I don’t have to.” Rio speaks carefully even though his voice sounds like crackled flames and for a moment she sees the old him—or maybe the person he’s always been but that she’s forgotten about in softened moments. The man who broke into her kitchen with his boys and held a gun to her head, who threatened her, who was satisfied with killing Warrez and at one point was satisfied with the idea of killing _her._

“What part of that are you havin’ trouble with?” He grits his teeth as he speaks, “I don't owe you shit. I’m not your sister, your best friend or your dumbass husband; we're partners. Don’t romanticize that, darlin’.”

He lets go of her then, roughly, her head falling to the side from the lack of momentum. She’s trembling a little but steels herself to look up at him again, brushing hair away from her face.

“‘Partners’ implies honesty; I tell you the truth.”

The fire that was once there, burning high and bright in Rio’s gaze dims quickly as if someone’s thrown a bucket of water on him. But this is typical Rio; hot anger that seethes and somehow tells her everything she needs to know, not so much by what he says but _how_ he says it, and then it’s gone—a cold mask of indifference covering up the ashes.

This is how he pushes her away; by not giving a shit.

“Whose fault is that?” He asks her, drawing his lower lip into his mouth.

Rio takes another step towards her until the tips of their shoes bump together, dying embers still between them giving off heat. She looks up at him, her eyes trying to read his but not finding anything, no words to help. There’s just raw nerves there, exposed skin, the beautiful lines of his face and scruffed jawline. Nothing that tells her how he really feels.

“Four.” She says, her voice cracking just slightly.

Rio lifts his hand but she’s not afraid of him, remains unmoving as he draws his fingers down the side of her face, thumb brushing over her jaw and chin where he’s grabbed her, smoothing over his heated touch from before as if he regrets it. And maybe he does but once again it’s hard to tell. He’s blank, not sharing anything with her.

Beth can see the moment he switches gears, his hand falling to her neck, fingers brushing along the back of her hairline and making her shiver. The heat between them from tension before warps into something different, something they’ve always shared, deep-seeded and engrained. His eyes are looking at her lips as he nearly closes the space between them.

“Do you want to go?” His breath fans out over her face.

She considers him for a long moment and thinks about how she really _should._ She should slip out from underneath his grasp and leave, through the front door, let him take his time to regroup and hopefully be less pissed off when she sees him next. And yet…she doesn’t; she’s thought about him for seven days, almost non-stop, wondered if he was alright, missed the heat of his skin and the quirk of his mouth.

She _wants_ him because Beth has always wanted him, heat slowly pulling between her legs no different than any other time.

She shakes her head, _no._

Rio licks his lips, thumb brushing along her pulse point. “Do you want me to kiss you?”

Beth swallows, taking her chances as she reaches forward and rests her hands against his chest. When he doesn’t move or push her away, she slides the jean jacket off his shoulders. It hits the floor with a gentle _swish,_ her fingers pressing against the warmth of his skin that she can feel through the black shirt he has on.

Then she nods, _yes._

He smiles softly, their hips touching as her fingers dig into his shirt. “Where?”

Her hand comes up to touch the other side of her throat and Rio follows her direction by leaning down and kissing along her pulse point. A soft noise leaves her lips, his hand squeezing the back of her neck at the sound, tongue swiping over her pale skin and trails his lips down to her collarbone. Beth’s hands tug at his shirt a little desperately, that heat between her legs threatening to boil over as his other arm wraps around her back to ground her.

When he pulls back his lower lip is swollen red, slightly shiny. “One question left. You want it?”

Instead, she grabs a handful of fabric and tugs him into a kiss. It takes a moment, but both of his hands come up to cup the sides of her face, tilting his head a little to deepen it. She bumps into the nightstand again, unaware of how his furniture is organized and definitely almost knocks the lamp onto the floor. A hand on her hip guides her to the bed, touch almost insistent, Beth taking off her coat and throwing it in the direction of where his has gone. His lips leave hers when she sits on the bed, hands helping her off with her shirt, quickened movements as he undoes his jeans and she unfastens her own. Suddenly his body is lying over top of hers, lips against her neck again, Beth’s arms wrapping around his back to keep them there.

They’re lopsided on the bed, the covers getting messed up, her hands pulling at his shirt but he doesn’t stop long enough to allow her to take it off. She _misses_ his skin, the heat of it against her own, burrowing her nose into his shoulder to breathe him in. Rio’s one hand gathers up the sheets into his fist as Beth reaches down between them, freeing his cock from his jeans. A soft noise leaves his throat, barely any sound, everything felt on his face rather than heard.

Beth shimmies down her jeans as best she can, her fingers finding her clit to rub, relieving herself of some pressure that feels stacked against her chest. When she moans, Rio gently takes her hand away, sliding the head of his cock where her fingers were before he slips inside.

They don’t take their time, the movements are quick and jerky and remind her too much of the first time in the bar bathroom—hands grabbing, thrusts desperate and rushed, Beth’s mouth nearly biting at Rio’s shoulder so she doesn’t cry out in pleasure as it mounts inside of her. He holds onto her, pulling her into his body, their jeans a tangled mess and almost hard to work around but she’s already close.

It feels familiar and yet it’s so different from the last time, his touch doesn’t linger, their eyes don’t meet, the intimacy isn’t _there_ like before—but the thought is a fleeting moment as she reaches her climax. Beth’s fingers gather the material of his shirt between her fingers and _yank,_ a series of moans leaving her lips. Rio follows in suit, a hard thrust forward making him lose it, one last kiss against the hollow of her throat, soft pants emptied out there.

After a few moments, her hands loosen and fall to her sides, Rio pulling back and cleaning himself up. Beth takes a few tissues from the nightstand, should really slip into the bathroom but pleasure is still licking at her nerve endings and a fuzzy high has fogged her brain that she doesn’t really feel like moving.

She throws the tissues away after using them, pulling her jeans up as she sits on the edge of the bed. Rio’s watching her a moment and her hair must be a tangled mess because he reaches up and smooths the one side down, fingers curling around her chin before—

Before he uses that final question.

“Would you please leave my house now?”

She stares at him, mouth opening slightly as his jaw clenches. His eyes are cold, disconnected, his hand falling from her hair as he walks past her towards the bathroom, his shoes echoing against the wooden floor.

Beth knows she’s made mistakes but this is the first time she’s ever felt like one.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks so much for reading! i'm back open for prompts at blainesebastian.tumblr.com/ask :)


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